She seems a new being, with
hope, joy, and happiness brightening the future for her. But, alas!
how vain are hopes,--how uncertain the future!
Rosebrook watched the steaming craft as she crosses the bar, and
dwindles out of sight. "Thou art safe, poor slave," he says to
himself, as she passes from view behind the distant peak.
Something touches him on the shoulder as he returns to his carriage.
"Ah! this you, Pringle Blowers?" he exclaims, turning round
suddenly, as the full face of that important personage presented
itself. "Been seeing some friends off to--?"
"No," replies Blowers, with seeming indifference. He is just shying
round,--keeping an eye out for a smart kind of "a gal," lost last
week.
"Quite a misfortune, that, Blowers! God bless me, I'm sorry,"
returns Rosebrook, dryly. Rosebrook invites him to get in and ride a
short distance. Blowers has not the slightest objection; seats his
square frame on the left side of the carriage. "Those were clever
posters you put out for the apprehension of that girl, Blowers!"
"Took some genius, I reckon," interrupts Blowers, with broad laugh.
"They say she was very handsome, and, if it be true, I hope you may
get her, Blowers," continues Rosebrook, naively.
The disappointed man shakes his head, touches the other on the arm,
and says, "Nothing is more sure!"
CHAPTER XLIV.
HOW DADDY BOB DEPARTED.
LET us again beg the indulgence of the reader, while we go back to
the night when Marston was found dead in his cell, and when that old
negro, whose eventful history we shall here close, sat by his
bed-side, unconscious that the spirit of master had winged its way
to another world.
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